


Pretty Boys and Subway Stations

by The_Otter_Knight



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempt at Humor, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME, Innuendo, Lawyer Minho, M/M, Subways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 11:14:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6326809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Otter_Knight/pseuds/The_Otter_Knight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Prompt:</b> “I honestly didn’t notice that you were sitting here.”<br/>“How could you not? You’re sitting on my lap.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty Boys and Subway Stations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kenny0550](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kenny0550/gifts).



> You know Hobbits, right? Well, for their birthdays, they give everybody else gifts. Does this mean I'm a hobbit?
> 
> Also, my sister and I agreed to prompt each other with a couple sentences for a fic. The one I gave her was "You promised you'd love me first" and mine was the one in the summary.  
> She has since convinced me to upload it. Cheers.

Gally is almost 500% sure that he smells of vomit, aftershave and the cheap soap that the hospital restrooms used. He feels sick - the queasy feeling in his stomach and the light-headedness from lack of sleep. He just wants to sit down somewhere and sleep away the memories of yesterday.

In essence, visiting people in the hospital was not fun, especially when you were potentially the reason why they were there in the first place. He really shouldn’t have convinced Chuck to do that stupid dare - now the poor snot-nosed kid was in ICU because of some diabetic thing or other.

The point was, he smelled gross and had looks to match. His hair was in isarray, and he could _feel_  his beard growing in mismatched spots. Wearing a ratty sweatshirt was not how he wanted to be seen by most people. Granted, it probably covers the fast-food smell that he got whenever he had his shift at McDonalds. But you had to do what you had to do.

Rubbing his fingers into his temples, he breathes heavily through his nose, hoping for his headache to disperse. _Way to go, Gally, letting someone else down, what a great friend you are,_ comes the sarcastic let-down of a voice in the back of his head. He continues to mentally berate himself and gladly steps onto the subway train when the doors slide open.

His sight swims in front of him, flashing in harsh spots of black before he shoots out a hand to steady himself, bracing himself against one of the upright poles. Gally lets out a quick sigh and slumps down into the nearest seat.

And is greeted with a protesting cry of surprise. “Uh.”

Gally, who has always been more leg than torso, knocks his knees against the stranger’s when he scrambles to get up. Instead, he miraculously slips on the stranger’s bag and collapses back onto their lap. “Nhf.”

“Shit,” Gally swore, loudly. “I didn’t see you sitting there.”

The guy - oh god, his voice was like caramel mocha, what the _hell_ \- makes a noise of indignation. “Right. Which is exactly why you decided to sit on my lap, when you had the whole train to pick from.” Gally feels his face burn, and as instinct to his usual embarrassment, he feels anger rise beneath his skin. “I’m not complaining, it’s just - usually I pay for people to straddle my lap, not for someone to just pounce me.”

“I’m not a prostitute!” he hollers out and oh god, now _everybody_ was looking at them. “I didn’t mean to sit on you, honest. I was just so goddamn tired and I thought, hey, why not sit down? _Of course_ you had to be sitting there!”

“So it’s my fault?” comes an amused response and Gally turns on the stranger’s lap, squinting into the dark eyes of an Asian man. He’s Gally’s senior by at least six years, it look like, with laugh lines creasing his mouth and folds of skin around his eyes like he’s been squinting too much. He’s still attractive though, with thick, dark hair and shit if Gally didn’t have wet dreams about Asians before he sure as hell would now.

“Damn right it is,” he shoots back, making a point of jabbing his finger into the stranger’s face.

“Oh, yes, of course,” comes the sarcastic response. “Because I personally know you and decide to make your life a living hell by knowing the future and so by knowing which seat you’re going to sit in I’m going to sit there instead.” His mouth quirks up into a smirk - and Gally’d be damned if his tired brain thought of _other_ uses for this Asian’s pretty mouth - and he taps Gally’s hips.

Right. Hips. Gally was still definitely sitting on the hot stranger’s lap. “Well, if you want to ruin my life,” he demands, voice full of authority and damn if he wasn’t getting off on this because instead of being yelled at it’s usually the other way around. “Then you gotta know my name. It’s Gabriel,” he frowns, crossing his arms, almost whacking the Asian in the face as he does so, “but everybody calls me Gally.”

The amused look is back in the other guy’s face now. “Oh? Yes, because I definitely wanted to know a hooker’s name.”

“I’m not a hooker!” Gally protests, and this time he manages to stand up without incident - his pride doesn’t remain intact though. “Just tell me your name so I know who to file a police report against.” He wasn’t serious, and by the look the other man was giving him, this guy knew he wasn’t either.

“Minho Park,” comes the easy response, “Although if you’re going to try for sexual harassment, it might be the other way around - _you_ were the one to sit on _my_ lap.” He grins, slowly, almost leeringly, “Good luck trying to sue a lawyer.”

“Dammit,” Gally throws his hands up because of course not only was the Asian hot, but he definitely had the smarts to go with his good looks. “Okay, then. How about this, I go this way-“ he jerks his thumb in a random direction, away from the stranger, “-and you sit there and we pretend none of this ever happened.”

“Yeah, because I can definitely forget about getting a free lap dance,” Minho smirks and Gally almost considers pitching himself onto the third railing and getting himself electrocuted.

Instead, he slumps down on the seat opposite and musters up as much anger in his glare as he could and scowled at him. “As if,” he punctuates his words with a heavy exhale, “I wouldn’t ever give _anyone_ a free lap dance, especially someone I don’t know.”

“You know my name, don’t you?”

The railing is looking mighty fine again. “Shut up,” is the response that the pretty-mouthed man gets. Gally earns himself a rumbling chuckle. Gally immaturely sticks his tongue out - _oh, yeah, really winning brownie points with this guy here for sure_ \- and crosses his arms.

Amazingly, the rest of the train ride continues without incident. It is at this time that Gally watches the stranger, despite his rising tiredness. The stranger really does seem to be a lawyer - or at least a student, because he’s pulled out a criminology book and seems to be flipping through it. If the Asian makes a notion that he’s aware that Gally is watching him - quite obviously, he admits - then Gally had completely missed that cue. It’s like that, thinking that _‘yeah, Asians are definitely my type’_ that Gally falls asleep on the train.

* * *

 

Gally is shaken awake, and he uncomfortably crosses his legs. “What?” he asks, aware that his voice probably came out slurred and indecipherable. He blinks rapidly, as if that might help him focus.

The man from before is smiling down at him. “Hey, sleeping beauty,” he winks and in Gally’s rising heartbeat he leaps backwards and hits his funny bone against the back of the seat, almost falling off in the process. “Smooth.”

“Shut up,” he says, hoping that doesn’t sound as exhausted as he is. He’s staring blearingly up at the almost stranger, wondering why he’s talking to him.

The stranger is suddenly waving his hand in front of Gally’s face, and it takes him a moment to zero in on the slip of paper with slightly messy writing scrawled across it. “What’sit?” he asks, squinting down at it.

“Just in case someone sues _you_ for sexual harassment, next time you sit on their lap,” comes the teasing response, “give just me a call and I’ll bail you out. Free of charge. Unless you’re offering …” He trails off, and grins, winking again, “If not, feel free to give me a call anyways.”

Before Gally could even contemplate those words, the man is gone and the train is on it’s way again. Blinking slowly, he stares down at the hand-made card.

 _Minho Park - xxx-xxx-xxx_  
_To the cutie who sat on me with the bootie_  
_Call me_

Gally almost wants to hide his face in embarrassment and makes an attempt to toss it out. If Chuck would later question why his brother is so smiley, well, it had absolutely nothing to do with the Asian, nothing at all.


End file.
